Here I Go Again

Posted on by stilllearning2b

photo-288

I guess sometimes the third try is the charm (just, please not for marriages…two is plenty!). After putting in three offers on three different houses, we are finally under contract and set to close just before Labor Day. I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m so ready to be settled. But I’m also scared of settling in.

This will be my fifth move in four years. I’ve been pretty nomadic since the divorce. I knew that each move had a expiration date, so I have not taken the time or energy to fully nest in a place. It’s freeing in a way, but I’ve also missed that sense of home. That feeling of being in a place that I’ve personalized to my needs and tastes.

I’ve also been living in other people’s spaces. My first home was a spare bedroom in my friend’s house. Since I left everything behind, I used everything from her furniture to her linens. I had no personal stamp at all. My next home was an apartment by myself for a year. I furnished the entire place for $2000 and the help from IKEA (perfect for college students and the recently divorced alike!). Even though it was my space, I still held back since I knew that is was also a temporary resting spot. My next perch was in Brock’s townhome. This time, I brought furniture and other belongings with me, but I was still moving into someone else’s space. The current rental has been an improvement, as we both entered at the same time, but I still have resisted injecting my taste into the temporary home. Even on the house hunting, I have been somewhat distant from the houses, refusing to get emotionally attached (hmmm…kinda like I was when I first started dating).

This is different now.

This is a Home. This is a place where we intend to spend the next 15-20 years. This is a place where I can personalize. This is a place where I can grow roots. This is a place where I can move in without having to set aside the boxes for the inevitable move out. This is a place where the paint that goes on the walls won’t be from the leftovers in the garage. This is a place where things can be fixed instead of endured. This is a place where I can garden again. This is a place where I can grow.

I don’t know why, but the purchase of a house symbolizes more about commitment and moving on than the marriage does. I don’t know why, bu the purchase of a house makes me more nervous than the upcoming nuptials. It’s liked I’m scared to root again because of the fear of the pain of being uprooted.

Stupid fear. Ultimately, it’s just a house. Four walls and a screened in porch. I should not let it symbolize more than it is. After all, I can love and be happy with or without a Home. It’s time to let go of the fear of losing again. It’s time to relax and settle in. Hopefully soon on my new porch:)

Drama Queen

Posted on by stilllearning2b

“Hi. My name’s Lisa and I’m addicted to drama.”

Luckily that’s not true.

But that hasn’t always been the case.

Until the divorce, my life was pretty drama-free. I grew up in a stable environment and calm order was my status quo.

And then the world fell out from under me. For 8 months, from the text to the decree, my life was a soap opera. Each day brought new information, one shocking tidbit after another. And, after a time, they began to lose their impact. Drama became my new normal. My status quo. I needed bigger and bigger shocks to feel much of anything.

I had unwittingly become a full-on drama junkie.

Part of me yearned for it all to be over so that I could settle into a calm life again. But another part of me craved the stimulation that comes from drama. After the divorce was final and I stopped tracking my ex’s actions, I went through a bit of a withdrawal period. When friends and coworkers would ask for the daily update (I had become the days of their lives), I had to respond that I had nothing. They weren’t interested in hearing about the awesome lesson I taught that day or the furniture I was scoping out at IKEA. Normal life just couldn’t compare to the intrigue provided by bigamy and double lives.

I felt a bit lost for a few weeks. Empty. I was used to a fresh injection of “new” every day and I had gone cold turkey. I had to train myself to be content within the normal pace of life, going from fast-paced thriller to non-fiction. Luckily, my drama-free childhood was a stronger set point than that brief period and I was able to adjust without much trouble.

That’s not the case for everyone.

I was talking with a friend the other day who faced her own period of drama while caring for a very sick child. She is now past the worst of it but has two years of drama conditioning to overcome. She is aware of her higher threshold for stimulation, which is the first step in resetting your normal. I think she’ll be okay as she learns to trust and relax in the face of calm. She has to trust that no news is good news.

I know others that are not so fortunate. Their childhoods were filled with drama. Chaos has been their normal from the get-go. I’m not a proponent of the Law of Attraction (if it worked, all my students would make As on every algebra test) but I do believe that our intent and our vision tends to direct our decisions and influence the types of people that are attracted to us. In this case, drama begets drama. From my perspective now, I look at those crazy lives and I shake my head. I can’t imagine that level of chaos. But, yes I can. I was there myself. From the inside, it eventually doesn’t feel chaotic. It just feels normal. And, for those that were raised within that kind of environment, they know nothing else.

Drama may not be all bad. In my case, my desire for novelty led me to date (“Match Madness”) and helped me make major decisions about where to live and switching jobs. It is an adaptive behavior that keeps us from becoming overwhelmed and shutting down in the midst of craziness.

Life has a way of providing periods of intensity. If they last too long, we have to adapt to survive. When the chaos fades, it is time to release those adaptations. They are no longer needed. Recognize that life may feel boring for a time as you adjust to a lower level of stimulation. If you have children, understand that you are setting their drama status quo when they are young; try not to set the threshold too high.

It’s okay to release the need for constant stimulation.

It’s okay to be boring.

It’s okay to leave the drama for the big screen:)

 

The Gift of Giving

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I received a gift tonight. No, not one that was wrapped and sitting under a tree, nor one that came in a box at all. The gift I received tonight was the gift of giving.

 

My boyfriend and I made our usual trip to the gym this evening. Usual, with one small caveat – he was almost out of gas. Now, this is a situation that historically has caused me great stress. Until my mid-twenties, I never let my car go below 1/4 of a tank. Yeah, I know. I am getting better; however, and the situation this evening only caused me mild distress until we pulled into the gas station with 1 mile left on the digital readout.

Gas can & Twine
(Photo credit: silverlunace)

 

By the time Brock and I left the gym this evening, it was dark out (not cold, however. thanks, Atlanta for this springtime respite!). We saw a woman struggling with a gas can with her car pulled just into the driveway of the gym (a position we could have easily been in ourselves just 30 minutes earlier). Brock immediately stopped the car, rolled down the window, and asked if she needed help. She said she couldn’t get the nozzle of  the gas can to operate according to the directions. Brock put his car in reverse, and pulled out of the driveway, hitting a piece of metal and blowing a rear tire in the process.

A brief interlude: After only a few weeks of dating, Brock spent an afternoon helping me as I purchased an apartment’s worth of furniture from IKEA, loaded it into a rental truck, and carried it up 3 flights of stairs. On our way back to the rental facility (after MANY trips up those damned stairs), we came across a man who had run out of gas just outside my new apartment. As the nearest gas station was a mile away, Brock offered to give him a ride there and back. We were exhausted. I was elated. I knew then I had a man worth keeping.

 

Undaunted, he got out, and proceeded to try to help the woman. It turns out that this gas can was either designed by or manufactured by complete morons, as it was impossible to connect the nozzle to the can in any fashion. She and I proceeded to mess with the pesky plastic piece of junk (eventually using a laminated brochure as a funnel in its place) while Brock went to change his tire.

 

We left the gym parking lot 20 minutes later than planned with gas on our hands, rumbles in our bellies and a busted tire. But we also left happy, filled with the authentic well-being that can only come from helping another. And that’s a gift we can all receive.

 

 

 

Perfection in a Chipped Plate

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Image from growingyoungereachday

In my old house, I strove for perfection.  My ex and I were constantly laying tile, painting walls, building furniture, and then repainting walls. We looked for furniture, dishware, and accessories that would give a Pottery Barn look on a Target budget. I once spent over 30 hours looking for just the right throw pillows for the couch after we repainted the living room. We both had a similar level of neatness, so the carefully selected objects in the carefully crafted house were not obscured by clutter. Perfection always seemed attainable, although slightly out of reach.

In my new home, perfection is laughable. My boyfriend’s talents do not extend to homemaking; in fact, as far as the house is concerned, I feel like I live with a scattered 16 year old boy. Our furnishings are a compilation of his twenty years of bachelorhood and my on-a-very-tight-budget IKEA run to furnish the apartment I was in for year 2 of my new life. The cupboards are filled with an odd assortment of dishes and glasses, many of them chipped from being carelessly loaded into the dishwasher. The couch, a remnant of bachelorhood, is stained from spilled drinks and muddy paws. It is topped with throw pillows that don’t match much of anything. Even the house itself is a rental, so we have done the bare minimum to improve its aesthetics.

Sometimes, when I visit other people’s homes and I see their perfect serving dishes and their matched accessories, I feel inadequate. I think about hitting the stores and upgrading some of our things. But then I realize that I don’t want to travel that road again. I don’t want to feel the pressure to create a perfect home. In my old life, I took pride in my surroundings, yet I was also a slave to them. I like living in a home where I do not have to be worried about a spill on the rug or a chip in the wood. I like not being owned by my home.

So, if you ever make it over for dinner, I can promise you a mean Mexican lasagna on a chipped IKEA plate, plenty of wine (although it may not be served in a wine glass), and lots of laughter and good company (oh, and pit bull kisses too). That’s my idea of perfection.